“Rejection, I have found, can be the only antidote to delusion”
— Ottessa Moshfegh, My Year of Rest and Relaxation
And just like that, once again, it was all over before it began. That’s the mantra I repeat to myself each time a relationship that lived longer in my head than in reality amounts to nothing. He was so nice about it (well, as nice as you can be when you’re saying the socially acceptable version of: “I think you’re cool, but there’s no way I would fuck you”) that I couldn’t really be upset. (The cure-all which forces thoughts and endless “what ifs” from my mind is, more often than not, unbridled hatred. Unfortunately, not applicable in this case.)
It’s so interesting what plays out in these rejection sequences — when someone directly says or dances around the idea that you shouldn’t “take it personally.” It’s always bothered me; in romance, and generally speaking, in life. Rejection has, as far as I’m concerned, always been deeply, if not solely, personal. The judgments we make based on personality are why we have the jobs we do, the friends, and even the pets. Unless some circumstance stands in the way of a romantic relationship, the two determining factors have, and always will be: personality and/or physical attraction.
If not personally, what other way is there to take a rejection? I’m “extremely funny” and “smart” (his words, not mine), and because of this, he, by his own admission, initially thought it was a “no-brainer.” There is a gaping hole where an adjective could be, but (blatantly) isn’t. If that doesn’t spell it out, what does? The lack of something can, more often than not, be a clear indicator of what someone thinks. The quiet parts speak for themselves.
It’s funny (or ironic, I should say) because I was just starting to become comfortable in my looks — felt like I had grown into them. I began to feel content when I looked in the mirror. Compliments didn’t feel like things other people said to me to feel good about themselves, but genuine and real. It only takes one gust of wind to topple the card structure that is my sense of self-esteem, which is what I seemingly find out time and time again without learning from it.
Is there any way to stop the wind from affecting me? Do I need to swap cards for some other, more stable material? Where do I find that material? Does it exist? Does it exist within me (somewhere buried deep underneath the layers of learned self-loathing I’ve accumulated), or am I being an over-whining, self-indulgent, tone-deaf girl who needs to get over herself? I feel that these are questions I may ask for years to come.